


Black And White

by MarvelSupernatural



Series: Cockling Cockles Series Of Fiction(Ish) [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cockles, Dom!Misha, Drinking, Fluff, Humor, I’m Bad At Tagging I’m Sorry, Jenmish, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Smut, Throwing Glass, blowjob, handjob, i guess, idk anymore, sub!Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 09:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15140366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelSupernatural/pseuds/MarvelSupernatural
Summary: Eight months prior, Misha had proposed to stay ‘just friends’ which careened their relationship downhill, on set and off. However, standing there drunk on Jared’s balcony whilst harboring a pounding migraine, Misha meets Jensen just as he’s about to throw the glass.And Misha had had enough of Jensen’s cold shoulder treatment for the past eight months and decides to confront him about it. Nevermind that they’re at Jared’s black-and-white fundraising event, these two have some dispute to settle. Potentially more.





	Black And White

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely fictional and does not, I repeat, does NOT depict any real-life events that actually happened! Again, I’m expressing my shame over writing this, but it’s not going to stop me from not not writing it. Mr. Ackles and Collins, if you’re reading this (highly doubt it but who knows) I apologize deeply. No pun intended ;) 
> 
> Anyways, happy readings, and enjoy!

Music, alcohol, limited spaces, and swarms of sweaty bodies was the last thing he needed. Even if his co-star’s house was the size of roughly two football fields combined, space was not an option at the event. They were celebrating something, he couldn’t remember exactly what they were celebrating and he knows he should. It is his best friend’s party after all and he got the first invite, family not including. But after consuming however many glasses — he lost count and gave up ten minutes ago — of whatever rich liquid was in those fancy tall chutes, his mind wasn’t exactly in the right place. Being swarmed by sweaty, hot fabric and body heat did not help his migraine-induced headache he’s been holding for the past few weeks, and he had seeked solace in a quiet, isolated balcony far away from the party.

He hopes Jared wouldn’t mind him standing here, in the ‘restricted area’ of the house where all party attendees were forced to recede at that point. He just needed air to breath, and maybe some headache relief. _Throw in some alcohol too._

Jensen is dangling his whole arms over the balcony railings, fingers clasping his half-empty glass of whatever it was that was going around downstairs. His grip wasn’t tight and each passing second felt like the glass was slipping even farther down his loose fingers. His body is slouching back, head laying on the cold slab of metal, and legs locked in.

The balcony isn’t lit, and Jensen takes comfort in the dark, feeling his unusually warm forehead cool by the cold metal on his skin for a few moments before the material turns warm in a matter of seconds. Jensen shuts his eyes, a soft groan escaping his lips as he shifts his head to lay on his left arm, which only made matters worse seeing how his whole body was hotter than his head it seems. He needs a drink.

Finding minimal strength, Jensen lifts his head and brings his shaky fingers to dunk the rest of his drink into his throat, feeling the sweet and cool liquid slide easily down. And he finds himself craving for more, anything to relieve his burning throat and keep his mind off of the throbbing pounding inside his head.

Seeming to find no use in his empty glass, and feeling a little upset by the whole debacle, Jensen rubs his eyes a little harshly, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, even going as far as squinting as he pulls his right arm back, ready to hurl the damn glass into oblivion before his wobbly stance gives his legs away.

“Is this what we’ve turned into, hmm? Throwing glass off of balconies at their friend’s black-and-white fundraising event?”

Jensen squints at the voice, body tensing on reflex. He doesn’t lower his hurling arm, neither does he turn to face the voice of the man he’s grown to silently loathe on the inside. _Well_ , that was _partially_ a lie. He couldn’t actually _hate_ Misha even if he tried.

“Did you only come here to berate my actions?”

Either the man didn’t hear him right, or he chose to ignore the bitter and hostile tone in Jensen’s voice and invite himself on the balcony anyway. Probably the latter since it’s Misha he’s talking about. And god knows that man doesn’t back down from a gunfight even if he only brought a knife.

Misha releases a content sigh as he leans against the railing a good distance beside Jensen. His eyes are cast downward onto the multitudes of cars parked neatly beside one another and he gives Jensen a shrug of his own, meaning nothing by it.

“Depends. Are you going to throw the glass or not?”

There was something daring in the tone of Misha’s voice, a kind of doubtful wisp about it. And the way Misha clasps his hands and glances carefree down at the cars sets a fire, a rebellious fire, in the pit of Jensen’s stomach. _He doesn’t think I’ll do it because I’m fucking Jensen Ackles. The ‘mature’ one out of the three of them who usually disapproves of stunts like these._

 _Well, fuck you,_ Jensen mocks viciously inside his head as he throws all of his weight into his right arm and swings. The glass travels so fast that it slips Jensen’s tracking eyes and all he hears is the loud sound of glass breaking upon coming into contact with something hard.

“And three...two…—“

Misha’s countdown is cut off by a high-pitch alarm blaring into the night from down below, breaking the silent ambiance of the night. Jensen’s hands immediately brings up to cover his ears, the pounding from his head multiplying its intensity. Misha is quickly by his side at once, protruding him with muffled hurried questions, and even going as far as wrapping his arms around his back.

The pain in his head subsides after the blaring disappears a few minutes later. _It was about time someone had shut that damn thing off,_ Jensen growls. He doesn’t waste a second to acknowledge the arm of warmth embracing his back and unregrettably shoves Misha away from him, blaming his actions on the alcohol in his body. The push throws Jensen off balance and he stumbles back a few steps before he catches himself behind his back with both hands on the rail.

“You’re drunk.” Misha’s voice is disappointed, but not surprised. He doesn’t seem to be hurt by the shove either. He took it as if he deserved it.

“And you’re ruining my night,” Jensen tries not to slur his words, but he fails, and it seems as if the world is off-balance once again because he has to redress his grip to avoid from falling. This time, he’s leaning in the outer corner rail and he’s trying to grasp what Misha looks like a few feet away but it’s too dark and the lights aren’t on.

The other end is silent and it seems like an eternity before a sigh and a response is uttered. Jensen can’t see exactly what Misha is doing, or what his face is saying right now and is only limited to the dark outline of his lean figure.

“You promised me you wouldn’t act like this. Yet here you are, throwing glass down on cars like you’re a pubescent teenager in a rebellious phase and getting drunk at your best friend’s fundraiser like there’s no tomorrow. What the hell is wrong with you, Jensen?”

Jensen laughs to himself, a bitter, cold laugh. “So you _are_ berating me.”

Jensen doesn’t need light to know that Misha’s face is probably contorted with frustration and a pursed lip. He knows the man long enough to know his exact reaction to things, even before they happen.

“And for the record,” Jensen hiccups a little before he continues, trying his best to sound tough and intimidating, even having the audacity to square up his shoulders and feet. “There is _nothing_ wrong with letting loose and having fun once in a while. Maybe if you weren’t so freaking controlling all the time, you’d know that.”

He could only imagine what Misha must’ve looked like in that moment; eyes narrowing, jaws clenching, mouth ready to retort some smartass comment, and Jensen braces himself. He prepares to bask in his accomplishment, but Misha takes him by surprise by releasing a defeated sigh, and Jensen could see the dark outline of his figure shift as Misha returns to his position on the rails, face illuminated slightly by the faint light from down below.

“Jared’s going to be pissed when he finds out where that glass came from,” was all Misha said before falling silent.

“I’ll just tell him you egged me on.”

Misha’s laugh surprises him and honestly, throws Jensen off-guard. “Who says it has to be deliberate?”

Before Jensen could answer, his hiccup takes his mouth captive and the sound that comes out sounds like a squirrel being strangled. It was how Jensen knew he was really drunk, but not drunk enough that his memory were all plastered and wiped. He finds it quite annoying and very un-manly of him to do so, but it’s not like he could do anything about it.

“Stupid hiccups,” Jensen mumbles under his breath, scowling at nothing in particular. “Yes, of course I threw it on accident. My hands slipped and the glass flew all the way across the yard. By _sheer accident_.”

The dark outline of Misha’s shoulders pulls up in a shrug before it releases. He says nothing else and Jensen takes this opportunity to mirror Misha’s posture, leaning against the rail, hands dangling out in the open and Jensen lets the silence engulf them both.

It’s comforting and for once in eight months, Jensen isn’t looking for an excuse to escape interacting or being in the same room as Misha. It was just like old times, except maybe it wasn’t. He didn’t have Misha. Not anymore. Not like he used to. Not like he _wanted_ to. And why? Because Misha called it off eight months ago and decided that they were better off as friends and things could go back to normal like they once was and that they would be okay.

Except things weren’t _‘normal’_ and Jensen wasn’t _‘okay’_ because every time they were on set together for a scene, it takes Jensen all of his willpower to stop himself from jumping the guy and take him right then and there. Provided that Jensen had experience, which he doesn’t, not in the terms of man on man at least. Their relationship had only taken a turn for the worse, what with Jensen giving him a cold shoulder now and then and his direct, abrupt and brash interaction with Misha whenever they _would_ talk. Even the crew could sense something was off and Jared had even approached him once asking what was wrong. Of course, Jensen only grumbled in return and proceeded to list every flaw of Misha that came up in his head — which, by the way, Jensen had trouble with, seeing as how Misha had _none_ to begin with, in his opinion at least.

“So, how are things at home?” Misha brings his hands up to his mouth and it takes Jensen a good few seconds to realize Misha had a glass of his own. Since when did the man have one?

“Why do you care?” Jensen grumbles, a little bitter and now more aware since he’s slowly coming down from his buzz.

“Because I’m your _friend_ and it’s what _friends_ do,” Misha answers flippantly, taking another sip of his drink before he dangles it over the railings again. “I’m honestly _trying_ here, Jensen. What else do you need me to do? You’re casting a bad vibe over the set and you’re putting it as if _I’m_ to blame, which is bullshit because all I ever did was return things back to _normal_. Isn’t that what you _wanted?_ ”

Jensen takes time to absorb Misha’s answer, dissecting the bitter tone at the end along with a hint of frustration and desperation. He honestly felt bad, but he didn’t dare show it. Did he want to be normal? He didn’t ever recall using those words before, so Misha’s point didn’t strike well inside his head.

Jensen rolls his eyes, even if Misha can’t see him. “Yeah, whatever keeps you asleep at night, Mish. I need a drink.”

He pushes himself off the rail, finding stability in his legs once again and he turns to blindly stumble back downstairs for a drink. Apparently, Misha had other ‘controlling’ plans for him because immediately, the dark outline of his figure stands to block the doorway of the balcony and Jensen’s path to relief.

“Don’t you think you’ve had _enough,_ Jensen?”

His growl comes out and Jensen hiccups in return, explosions of curses going off in his head. Still, Jensen scowls and sets his tone, demanding and hostile once more.

“Get out of my way, Misha!”

He expected Misha to succumb, usually when Jensen demanded things in a hostile tone, Misha would often obey. But he didn’t expect him to stride dangerously forward, shoulders brooding in the dark shadows. Jensen’s first reaction is to swerve aside and make a dash for it, but he finds himself too drained out for it. Besides, something in the way Misha walks, shoulders buffed out, arms wide and figure tall and hunched, makes Jensen stumble back in an attempt to put some distance between them.

“You’ve tried my patience and I have had _enough_. I _was_ going to play nice, but you’ve made it incredibly hard for me to do so this evening,” Misha’s voice comes low and husky and loud enough for their general area to hear. His strides were getting closer and Jensen could almost hear the deep heave of his chest and heavy breathing as the distance shortens. “Excusing yourself from people when you see me coming, throwing me looks, oh and my favorite, talking about me behind my back while you’re intoxicated.”

His last stumble brings him to smack against the metal railings, both hands fumbling behind him to grip and balance himself up. In a split second, Misha is hovering over him, how he managed to do that since Jensen is taller beats him, and this time, Jensen could see his face for the first time this evening with the help of the faint lights from down below.

The usual blueness in Misha’s eyes are gone, replaced by the dark hue of his extremely dilated pupils. His plump lips are full and so goddamn inviting that Jensen has to take a shaky breath in before he forces himself to look away before he does something he would immediately regret. The sharp clench of Misha’s jaw brings his cheekbones to stand out and his nose to flare out in silent anger. A piece of hair from his head falls forward and only now does Jensen notice the way his eyebrows are being pulled together in a scowl.

Jensen gulps. Seeing Misha like this scares the shit out of him. Misha wasn’t one to fully flip out, in fact he rarely ever does, and to experience it first-hand isn’t something Jensen was looking forward to. Although, he has to admit, Misha does look extremely attractive and hot when he was like this. _But no!_ He can’t think like that! He was supposed to be mad at Misha! _But damn, it’s so hard to be mad at him if his body is just centimeters away from touching mine._

“What do you have to say for yourself now, Jensen?”

Jensen hiccups in response, seeming to lose control over his mouth. His palms were beginning to feel sweaty and warm on the rails and he knows he should stay silent, but it’s Jensen and he’s not one to back down from a challenge and hinder himself as submissive. _God, if Danneel were here she’d have a field day_.

“I still need that drink.” Another hiccup pitches in. Jensen shifts and his head is spinning again, but not too heavily this time. He really needs a drink. His mouth is dry and his lips aren’t chapped. Casually, Jensen flicks out his tongue and runs them across his bottom then top lips, smacking them afterwards. He’s aware that the action causes Misha’s eyes to watch him. And yet, Jensen plays it cool with a condescending smirk.

“Like what you see?”

“Only what I can’t have.”

“Who says you can’t have it?”

The look in Misha’s eyes are hungry and lustful and heavy. But they aren’t doing anything and Jensen might be drunk but he’s still in his partially right mind to do things with consent from his body. So, he does the one thing he will surely regret some point later when he’s fully sober, and pulls Misha in by the front of his shirt and kisses him.

Their bodies are flush now, and Misha isn’t showing signs of objecting yet. Their lips move sloppily, partly due to Jensen’s fuzzy state at the moment, and Misha is the first one to pull away after a few minutes of lip-locking. He purses his lips and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in.

“ _We_ did. We both agreed this was a bad idea.”

“So?” Jensen pushes, slightly annoyed at the loss of contact from his lips. He tugs on Misha’s white collar gently, hoping Misha would get the message and go back to what they were doing.

“So?” Misha opens his eyes and quirks an eyebrow up. “Friends don’t kiss friends the way you kissed me.”

“Care to demonstrate?” Jensen offers a flirty smile and tugs with both hands to bring Misha down but the man is still stubborn as ice.

“What if someone sees us?” Misha bites his lip in worry and throws his whole dominant, dangerous figure out of the window.

Jensen sighs in response. “They’re all downstairs and this area is restricted, I don’t think _anyone_ is going to find us up here.”

“But what if—“

Jensen pulls Misha down with force, shutting him up with his lips. He places his hands on the back of Misha’s neck, pulling him in closer and the man doesn’t object.

“There’s no ‘what if’s, only ‘what now’s,” Jensen mumbles against his lips, eyes half-lidded and head slightly tilted.

“Okay,” Misha seems to say against their mouths in a whisper. “What now?”

Misha’s answer came as soon as his back hits the railing with Jensen hovering half a step away from the man, already on his knees and fingers stumbling to undo Misha’s belt buckle.

“ _Now_ I’m going to attempt to give you the best blowjob you've ever had in your life,” Jensen answers huskily before he tugs on the belt that he can’t seem to get off. “If I can just— _god,_ this isn’t even your worst belt, dammit. Why does your belt hate me, Mish?”

Misha’s laugh is refreshing and light and Jensen feels himself being tugged upward by his elbows. In an impetuous move, Jensen is retreated back to his original position with Misha hovering over him. With no trouble whatsoever, Misha undoes Jensen’s belt buckle and pulls his zipper down and chuckles darkly.

“I admire your offer, but I don’t think you’re in a state to fully satisfy me, Jen.”

“I am so in a state to f—f-fuck!” Jensen cries out as Misha sticks his hand inside his boxer briefs and grips him tight. If he wasn’t hard before, he was now.

Jensen bites his lip to refrain his not-so-innocent noises, eyes hooded and hazy from euphoria. Misha leans forward to plant a light kiss under his earlobe, his free hand holding Jensen’s hip steady as he starts to jack him off with long, slow strokes.

“What was that? I didn’t hear what you said.” Even if Jensen couldn’t see Misha, he could _feel_ the smirk on the man’s face and he huffs, puffing out his flushed cheeks.

“Shut up,” Jensen breathes with a hiccup. Misha only chuckles in response and proceeds to drive his wet kisses up along Jensen’s jaw and finally claim his mouth just as he tightens his hold and ups the speed, adding a thumb to brush his slit every time his hand drives upward.

Jensen’s moan and cries are muffled against Misha’s mouth and he can’t help but break apart as he lays his forehead against Misha’s and pants an uneven rhythm of breathing, chest heaving up and down heavily.

“O-Oh god!” Jensen pants heavily, eyes cast downward to watch as Misha’s hand stroke up and down with unbelievable speed, his pre-come making obscenely wild noises in the air.

“I’m not god but I’m flattered by the sentiment,” Misha pants along with a chuckle, hand getting more and more tired every passing second. “H-How far are you?”

Jensen bit his lip, unable to utter a coherent sentence. Instead, he throws his head back and with both hands, grabbed Misha by the hair as he slams his lips onto his, feeling the familiar heat pool in his stomach. He was close, _so_ close. And Misha could tell he was because he ceased his actions a few seconds later and removes his abused lips from Jensen’s protesting ones and sank down to his knees in a hurry.

Misha pulls down his pants and boxers, letting them pool around his ankles before he sank his mouth onto Jensen’s cock. Jensen’s hands flies into Misha’s dark hair, eyes rolling to the back of his head as Misha began to suck him off hard. He resists the urge to thrust his hips up into Misha’s mouth, thinking that choking him wouldn’t be the best idea to jack off to.

“Fuck, Mish,” Jensen grips his hair tighter, eyes cast downward to meet his large, soft ones. One of Misha’s hand had claimed its spot on Jensen’s bare stomach, pushing the white fabric upwards. The other fondled with Jensen’s balls, twisting and squeezing, making Jensen writhe in his spot.

Seeing Misha down on his knees with his cheeks hollowed in and out was the hottest thing Jensen has seen the man do. There was a loving glint in his eyes and a message in his eyes that tells Jensen that everything was going to be okay. And for right now, the man was right.

Jensen releases a guttural moan, his hip thrusting upwards as Misha’s tongue curls around his head and slit, licking off the pre-come. The action causes Misha to choke a tiny bit and Jensen immediately felt guilty about doing so. But Misha only encourages him by replacing his hand that was fondling his balls to grip Jensen’s hip, making the initiative to push Jensen into his mouth.

It only takes Jensen half a millisecond to obey Misha’s orders and the next he finds himself fucking into Misha’s mouth, holding the back of the man’s head gingerly. His balls slap against Misha’s chin at the rapid speed he’s going and it takes only another deep thrust into his throat for him to finally _feel_ it. He’s coming.

“M-Mish, fuck, I-I’m going to—“

Jensen makes a move to pull out completely before he stuffs Misha’s throat with his come, but Misha makes a deep rumble of protest and holds Jensen with both hands by the back of his thighs, eyes defiant and staring determined up at his, and Jensen knows that he was given the go-ahead.

Before Jensen can truly confirm that, Misha sinks him deep, purposefully swallowing and clenching him in his hot walls, and Jensen’s body shudders as he comes hotly down Misha’s throat with a loud cry that Jensen tries to muffle with his arms.

Misha happily swallows the warm liquid that flows down his throat and stays there until he’s sure he’s sucked Jensen dry and proceeds to remove his mouth with a pop. Jensen is a panting mess in front of him and Misha takes care of that, making sure his boxers are up and he even zips and buckles Jensen’s dress pants just so Jensen doesn’t have to do it.

With a sly grin, Misha plants a peck on Jensen’s lips and smirks. “Your hiccups are adorable, by the way.”

Jensen feels his cheeks flush redder than it already is. “S-Shut up. No, they’re not.”

A loud vibration cuts Misha off from saying anything and his eyes immediately cast down towards Jensen’s pocket. He raises an eyebrow at Jensen when their eyes meet.

“How much you wanna bet that that’s Jared?”

Jensen smirks. _There’s no way Jared would have time to text right now. He’s probably busy trying to coax people into giving_. So with an air of confidence and an unwavering determination, Jensen replies with a bold statement.

“How about doing whatever the other wishes for a week?”

Misha’s smirk is evident. “You’re on, Ackles. Go ahead and prove me right.”

Jensen brings out his phone and turns on his screen, face brightly illuminated that it takes Jensen a couple blinks for his vision to clear. And when it does, he doesn’t say anything.

“So? What’s the verdict?” Misha presses with anxious eyes and a smirk that tells him he won.

Jensen thrusts his phone in his face and lets the man read over what Jared, unfortunately, had sent and Jensen can see the cogs in his brain finally work out in horror what his text entails. Even Jensen had to reread it over again to see if he read right.

**_Jared: I know you threw that glass, you dickhead._ **

**_Jared: And you two better make sure my balcony isn’t ruined. And yes, I know._ **

Jensen could only glance in silence with an open-mouth at his screen. That is, until Misha breaks his attention.

“So, that makes me the winner. Serves up, Jen. Because I can think of one thing that belongs in that mouth and it isn’t flies. And it’s about damn time we made up for lost time.”


End file.
